It is, it appears, impossible to conduct a low-key gunging. “It’s a fiiiine day for an outdoor gunging,” roars Dave Benson Phillips as we walk towards Bristo Square. Within seconds, Phillips has pulled in a crowd and whipped them to a frenzy – the Fringe equivalent of a baying mob, yowling for the sight and smell of, erm, gunge. And this scrawny journalist, now barefoot on a blue tarpaulin, is the offering upon the altar of ’90s nostalgia. DBP begins the countdown – him shouting the even numbers, the rabble the odd ones. Three, two, one… More from FestMag story here!